Otherworld
by Triskell
Summary: A deadly battle and a dreadful loss... (hanky alert)


Disclaimer: The characters of Roar are the copyright property of Ron Koslow and Shaun Cassidy. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story is rated R! It contains strong, fairly graphic violence AND it involves character death! Please heed the warnings!

  
**OTHERWORLD**  
© Triskell, August 2000

  
It was a night straight from a story, a cold, white full moon stood out between the lazy twinkling of the stars and the land was shrouded into dimness and bleak shadows. Mystery and an air of enchantment lay on the world, commanding a stillness to spin their web of dreams and peaceful rest…  
  
~*~  
  
"Charge!"  
  
The Roman centurion's voice was hoarse from crying. He wished for the hundredth time that Longinus had not decided to strike those God forsaken Celts in the middle of the night – the witching hour. Spirits were wont to wander the hills at that time, or so he had heard. However, it didn't matter now, for he was engaged – to fight and, if necessary to die for a cause he didn't even understand…  
  
~*~  
  
"Get them!"  
  
Conor's voice rang out into the night, rising even over the noise of battle. His eyes were leaden and he only wanted to sleep, to lie down where he stood and forget about the fray that raged around him. He wanted to forget about the mutilated bodies of his mates, whose blood had dyed the fresh green of the hills as gory hue, a darker shade of black in the milky moonlight; forget about the promises of peace that were meant to be broken as soon as they had left the lips of the negotiators.  
  
The clans had thrown down their honour and their heritage. Some to fight with Conor and his friends for the country that had been their home for centuries. Others, to join with the stronger forces of Longinus, to destroy the land they had known and build a new kingdom on its ruins.  
  
"Conor…"  
  
Instinctively he ducked, just in time to avoid the sword of a legionnaire that had crept up behind him. Moments later, the man lay dead, slain by a knife Tully had planted in his back. Conor nodded to him, and then, leaving all thoughts and feelings behind, joined in the fight again, ramming his sword against flesh and bones…  
  
~*~  
  
Catlin's hands had developed a life of their own, as had the rest of her body. Her movements were automatic; she didn't register the sounds of her blade cutting deeply, drawing blood; she didn't hear the anguished cries, the sharp gasps or the curses laid upon her as she drew her circle of death into the rows of the Roman soldiers.  
  
Her concentration was on keeping away from the silvery streaks of metal, shimmering faintly, like crystal mists in the dim light. She didn't notice the body behind her, too intent was she on defending herself against the centurion who had appeared in front of her, his glimmering armour interwoven with the gory red of bloodshed and death.   
  
She stumbled. A flash in the night. And all was quiet and dark, and there was nothing around her anymore…   
  
Catlin fell, the grass was wonderfully cool against her hot cheek, and she lay there, drowsiness descending on her; it was so quiet and the tumult of the fight, the noises were so far away...   
  
"Cat!"  
  
She knew that voice. But there was no telling who it belonged to, she was so tired, so sleepy, she just wanted to close her eyes, drift along with the waves that rocked her gently, so very gently towards resting slumber…  
  
"Cat! Can you hear me! Cat!"  
  
Urgent, but not urgent enough. She was so tired. And the waves were so warm. They had rolled across her; she felt the soothing wetness on her chest, and it was comforting, so tiring…  
  
"Cat!"  
  
Sleep. Only sleep. She wasn't up to the fighting; she was fed up with risking her life. She wanted a bit of quiet, of calm, of peace. Forgetfulness. How wonderful it would be to simply close her eyes and leave everything behind.  
  
The warm flow on her chest wrapped her in, like a cocoon and the rocking was gentler now too, something wet dripped onto her cheek, on the hand that lay at her hip, drops of water, almost crystallized in the moonlight… The scent of someone she had longed to be with for years was so close that she was surrounded by it, held captive, as her heart had been for so long. She saw his hand, small rivulets of blood running from a few scratches and abrasions. She closed her eyes very, very slowly.  
  
"Please…"  
  
The voice was so soft, ebbing away like the waves. A hand pressed hard on her breast, close to her heart, the shadowy liquid on it mingling with the one on her clothes, and she knew that it was Conor's hand and his blood and she smiled faintly, happy to be touched by him, dimly realizing that her life was in danger as her consciousness drifted away…  
  
~*~  
  
When Catlin awoke, the mists around her had drawn closer, enveloping her like a cloak, shielding her from all prying eyes and she knew she was safe when she stood up slowly and began to walk, deeper into the hazy shadows.  
  
The consistency of a spider's web, a whitish tangle, interwoven with crystal drops that, like dew, sat on the tiny strands that made up the mists and the air.  
  
Not even her footsteps could be heard. They were swallowed by the ground she couldn't see as she stumbled forward, slowly, deliberately, systematically.  
  
She didn't know where she was going or why, what prompted her to continue that way, to turn and walk in another direction. She was twining a path through nothingness and she dimly wondered how any place could be so quiet.  
  
There were no birds, not even the hushed rustle of tiny animals, or the wind in the foliage of a tree, there were only the cool, white strands, the thin threads of the net she was caught in. And suddenly she realized she was alone…  
  
~*~  
  
"Don't argue with me! Get her off the field – NOW!"  
  
The elder man nodded, grimly, as he bent to take up the young woman's limp form. It could have been Molly, he thought and his stomach turned. The deadly gash wasn't visible; Conor had bound it tightly with pieces torn from his cloak, yet Catlin's clothes were drenched in her blood, still warm and wet against her clammy skin.  
  
Tully watched Fergus depart, averting his eyes while Conor brushed the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. Was the freedom of his country really worth losing Catlin? He had thought he was prepared. Maybe he had been wrong…  
  
~*~  
  
So still…but something was echoing in the back of her mind, a noise, like thunder, rolling and approaching, demanding to be heard…  
  
"Cat!"  
  
Who would call her? She was alone, all alone, but she wasn't frightened, she didn't feel the chilly touch of the spidery threads against her skin. She was fine.  
  
Yet that voice was insistent, it called her name repeatedly, and the warmth in its tone was sweeter than the sleep that she had sought for so long, it seemed like a melody drawing her towards its source…  
  
An enchantment in a forest of silvery white threads, a mystery hidden in the middle of the spider's web – her prison and her salvation combined in a maze of mystery and mists that she had to find a way through.  
  
Her heart beat faster when she turned, the better to hear that voice, the closer to get to it. And she went towards it, she didn't know why and she didn't care, for there was a meaning behind that voice, an emotion in that tone that told her not to pass the silent promise by…  
  
~*~  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
Fergus shook his head, but he didn't say anything. It was useless, Conor wouldn't listen anyhow. He had been sitting with Catlin since returning from the field, regardless of his wounds. Molly had had to coax him into letting her clean and bind them.  
  
It was cold in the makeshift shelter, in the middle of the forest. The caves provided them with a dwelling, for the Sanctuary was no more. The fight against the Romans had become personal, Longinus was more than a name, he was THE enemy. The incorporation of all the things the Celts so abhorred.  
  
And the battle, the call for freedom - it had lead to a full-blown war. No more rest, a rushing from fray to fray, the cries of death a daily occurrence, not talked about, registered with no more than a sigh. Dying had become the habit, and all of them knew that every day was only a further draw of fate signalling them that their torture was not yet ended.  
  
Now there was Catlin. Lying bundled up in the few cloaks they could spare. She was already on her way, everyone could tell that she would not return from the journey she had embarked on. It was too late to save her.  
  
Conor's hand clutched the cold fingers of his friend, his eyes never leaving the pale face. If only…  
  
~*~  
  
She was moving forward, the mists were clearing, but she was weary and she couldn't go on anymore, she wanted to sit down, only for a moment. Just a tiny bit of rest, a short while. Yet something urged her on, and a small voice she couldn't place told her that once she stopped, she could never move any further.  
  
And she had to go on. She had to find that sound, that one sound of her name, spoken in the deep, soft tone that washed through her body with heavenly warmth, bathing her in golden light.  
  
"Cat."  
  
Only one person who could speak this syllable like this, only one man whom she truly loved. And he was waiting for her and calling for her and she had to go to him. To tell him that he was in her heart, and would be - for eternity and beyond.  
  
There was a dim light in front of her, and where it touched the spider's web, the threads became iridescent and glowed, like dewdrops shimmering in the sun, before they vanished and cleared the path for her. And she moved towards that light, and that voice, slowly, but steadily, step by step…  
  
~*~  
  
"Cat!"  
  
His voice was breathless, and his grin lit up his face, though it couldn't reach his eyes. That saddened her, for the sparkle in his look was kindled by his smile and shone warmer than any sun.  
  
She couldn't say a word, her tongue was tied, there was so much to say and she suddenly realized that there was no time left to speak of it. She felt her mind drifting away, and her body was ebbing away, on the flood and shadows were falling around her, closing in on her to take her with them…forever.  
  
Conor held her hand tightly, staring into her eyes, clear like the morning sky and warm like the sea on a hot summer day. How could he ever tell her, how could he say goodbye?  
  
Slowly, he lifted her hand, bringing the palm up and laid it in his lap. Carefully, he traced two circles in it with his thumb. Two circles entwined. Unity.   
  
"One heart, one blood, one memory. From this life to the next…" (1)  
  
Catlin smiled, and nodded, letting go of the precarious light in front of her, slipping into the shadows. A warm tingle against her lips was the last thing she felt before darkness overtook her…  
  
  
The End.  
  
(1) Taken from the episodes 'Tash', where Conor tells Catlin that he loves her (*sniffle*), and 'The Eternal'


End file.
